


Below the surface

by Captain_Jowl



Series: What We Do [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Character Study, Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, Eyeliner, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Ian Gallagher, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 10, Post-Wedding, Rough Oral Sex, but make-up kink is not a tag, hi i'm back with porn, i like that eyeliner is a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Jowl/pseuds/Captain_Jowl
Summary: Even though they're married, the unresolved issues of their common past don't just magically disappear. Sometimes, they come up when Ian is trying to have sex with his husband. Sometimes, said husband needs his help in getting closure on an issue Ian didn’t even realize he had. And sometimes, the only way of letting go of old memories is making new ones.***This is a companion fic toWhat We Do (Leave the stories untold), fulfilling my readers' request :)
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: What We Do [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020709
Comments: 30
Kudos: 194





	Below the surface

**Author's Note:**

> So... several people asked me to write Ian's POV to one of my entries for Gallavich Week 2020. And I did it. And it was really fucking hard for some reason, I'm never doing it again :D 
> 
> I kind of tried to keep this one in the same GW2020 "Secrets" theme as the first one. 
> 
> Also, my summary for both of the fics will never be better than [ColdReign's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColdReign/pseuds/ColdReign): "Mickey gets a blow job and gets to exorcise an old demon." Such accuracy. 
> 
> You can still read it without checking out the first part but... I think it's more fun reading it after you read the first part :)
> 
> P. S. Dee, you're my hero, thank you so much <3

Ian is in a good mood as he always is when he feels like he had a productive day. He is off work and it would be so easy to sleep in and spend the time lazing in bed. However, he learned the hard way that it’s easier to get back to work if you don’t let loose on your days off.

So he stays active.

He goes for a run, has breakfast with Mickey and Liam who then leave for work and school respectively, gets Franny ready for the day, cleans the upstairs bathroom while the toddler is distracted by cartoons, takes her grocery shopping, and manages to read while she’s taking a nap.

His mind keeps wandering off to Mickey. He misses him. He always does when they’re not together. But with Fiona gone, Debbie serving time and Lip dealing with his own shit, the house and younger children are on him. As much as he wishes he could spend the day with his husband, his presence would surely distract him from all the things he wants to accomplish.

Debbie calls right about the time Tami comes in to cook dinner while Ian looks after both Franny and Freddy. He makes sure that his little sister is still doing okay, then puts her on speaker and lets her talk to her daughter until the loud beep announces that their time is over.

After the call Franny is heartbroken. She won’t stop crying and Ian takes her to her and Debbie’s room, tries to distract the girl with toys. The toddler keeps gravitating towards Debbie’s things, grabbing at everything that she associates with her mom. Ian manages to calm Franny down with promises to spend the evening doing whatever she wants. She refuses to let go of Debbie’s make-up bag and he lets her take it downstairs. It’s only fair, considering that Liam won’t stop reading even at the dining table.

Carl comes through the back door while they are eating and drops off a case of beer. It’s Mickey’s favorite. Mickey’s been busting his ass to make up for the loss of money that had been coming from Debbie’s work, so everyone is kind of trying to thank him for that, even if it means that the whole house drinks that cheap shit Mickey likes.

The word “family” emerges in Ian’s head and he thinks of it excitedly. It fills him with warmth and some unformed hopefulness. Imagining what Mickey would say if he knew what kind of thoughts glimmer in his mind, he realizes that his longing for Mickey’s presence has increased during the day and now he practically can’t wait for him to come home. Fuck these long Friday shifts, he just wants to sit next to his husband while he eats his dinner and drinks his shitty beer. He will have to wait a bit longer.

Satisfied that Tami made sure to leave a portion for Mickey without him telling her, Ian goes to entertain Franny.

They settle on the floor in front of the couch, some nature documentary about foxes in the background while Franny rummages through Debbie’s make-up with extreme interest. He doesn’t care that Debbie will be mad when she comes back – she should know how hard it is to entertain a toddler.

Franny has a system to it. Holding up different objects, she quizzes Ian.

“What is this for?” she asks again and again.

Sometimes he recognizes it and sometimes he doesn’t – then Franny goes through an identifying process which means using it on herself or on Ian. That is how he ends up getting sprayed with the “Pink Seduction Body Mist” and Franny gets her chubby cheeks covered with glitter. After making him put lip stain in a shade “Flirty Rose” on them both, she reaches into the make-up bag for the next item.

“What is this for?” she asks again.

She is holding a black pencil. Ian knows exactly what this is for.

“This is eyeliner, Fran. You put it around your eyes to make them more expressive.”

“Oooh,” she draws as she does after his every explanation. “I want to try!”

“You want me to put it on you?”

“No, I put on you!” she demands.

He imagines Franny turning him into a sad panda and poking him in the eye a couple of times in the process and shakes his head.

“It’s not as easy as it seems,” he tells her and takes the pencil away. “Took me a long time to learn how to do it so it looks pretty.”

Franny jumps excitedly and clasps her tiny hands. “Do it! Do it!”

“Okay, close your eyes then,” he smiles and prepares to draw two simple lines on her tiny eyelids, only for the kid to shake her head vigorously.

“No, on you! Do it!”

“I dunno, Frans, I’m not sure it’s–“

“Pretty please, Uncle Ian,” the girl puts her lips in the most adorable pout Ian has ever seen. Of course, he relents immediately.

“Okay, okay, but you gotta hold the mirror for me… Yeah, like that, hold it steady,” he looks into Debbie’s little hand mirror and starts outlining his eyes with black. He is terribly out of practice; however his muscle memory does its job. It’s not his best eyeliner work but he makes up for it by smudging it a bit with a small sponge on the other end of the pencil, creating his signature “hot mess” look.

He still likes the way it looks on him. He remembers discovering it in his teenage years, the way it made him appear older and sultrier, just as he strived. He didn’t have such nice eyeliner back then – they all used to take turns in front of the mirror in the Fairy Tale backroom using the same simple pencil, probably from a dollar store. Doing it with Debbie’s fancy make-up feels surprisingly satisfying. 

Franny watches him with her mouth opened, absolutely fascinated. Ian smiles at her. He loves being fascinating to his little niece.

The front door slams open right as he puts down the mirror. It could be either Lip or Mickey, or someone Carl owes money to, and Ian tries to look around but Franny puts her little hands on his cheeks to stop his head from turning.

“Don’t move! I want to look!” she demands. Ian is ready to shake her off. Rationally, he understands that no one in their right mind is going to just break into their house on Friday evening. However, it never hurts to be cautious in this neighborhood. He just hopes it’s not Frank, he really doesn’t want to have to chase him out with the baseball bat in full make-up.

“Whatcha doing there, Weasleys?” Mickey’s voice breaks his line of thoughts and he immediately relaxes. It’s just his husband coming home from work.

He wants to turn around again but Franny’s little fingers dig into his cheeks with an impressive strength.

“We’re playing!” she tells Mickey who hums in answer.

Ian is so damn happy that Mickey is finally home, so glad to simply be sharing the same space. Mickey’s presence works magic on him. He thinks that if he were a dog he’d be wagging his tail right now. Not being able to sit still, he waves over his shoulder.

“Hi Mick, I’m kinda stuck here,” he shrugs apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it, Supernanny,” Mickey answers, shuffling near the entrance. He sounds tired but content which never fails to bring a smile on Ian’s face. Ian wants to take the exhaustion out of his voice. It’s Friday, so Mickey’s been busting his ass for the whole week, and Ian feels like he’s been lazing in comparison. He knows it’s an irrational thought – he works nights and his job is objectively more stressful than Mickey’s – only it doesn’t help with the feeling. This is part of those self-worth issues his therapist always talks about and the solution to it is concentrating on something that brings Ian the sense of accomplishment. For example, taking care of his family. 

He wants to take care of Mickey.

“Tami made pot roast, there’s some left for you,” he tells him. “Carl finally bought beer,” he adds because there is a good chance that this will make Mickey happier than food.

“Thank fuck,” Mickey says with a pleased sigh. “Gonna go ditch the work clothes first.”

Ian grins, chest filled with warmth and unconcentrated happiness.

“Okay, I’ll come upstairs in a minute,” he says. He wants to kiss Mickey. Wants to spend some time just with him, before they get distracted by his siblings trying to push their weekend errands on them as usual.

Mickey hums again and heads upstairs. Ian turns his attention back to Franny. She’s been holding his face in her tiny hands during the whole exchange, looking at him in a serious concentration.

“You are pretty, like mommy,” she tells him with that inartificial way of a child, her sweet face close to his.

“So are you,” Ian says. He means it. She’s going to be a beautiful girl.

“I miss mommy.”

“I miss her too, Fran. She’s gonna come home soon.”

“You promise?” her bright blue eyes seem to be looking right into his soul.

“I promise,” Ian says with a nod. He will tell her the same thing tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. Every day, until Debbie actually comes home. It is unclear how long will it take for Debbie to be free again. It can take months. He remembers Fiona telling him the same thing when he was asking about Monica. She would promise him that she is going to come back to them soon, but Monica never did. She never came back for real.

He hopes Franny won’t have to wait as long as he did.

His mood falters and it’s not something he was planning on this evening. He’s been on a long good mood streak and in order to keep it that way he is ready to use one of his favorite strategies – removing himself from an upsetting situation. 

“Are you done looking at me?” he smiles. Franny nods and lets go off his face.

He is about to tell Liam to entertain the toddler while he’s away when she asks:

“Will you watch Nemo with me?”

He doesn’t want to. He wants to go upstairs to Mickey and let him balance out his mood with his presence. He doesn’t want to say no to Franny either.

He is saved by Carl coming down the stairs with a bored expression on his face.

“Carl will watch Nemo with you,” Ian announces loudly. Carl shrugs and goes to retrieve the disk from their DVD-stander, only looking a second too long at Ian’s face.

With Franny taken off his hands, he rushes up the stairs. He slides open the accordion door to his and Mickey’s room and sees Mickey messing up the drawers Ian spent his sweet time organizing today. His husband is cursing under his breath and he is wearing Ian’s green t-shirt that is slightly big on him. He is too damn cute for his own good. Ian can’t stop a smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” he says. He doesn’t even try to sound chill, feeling mushy just from the sight of Mickey moving around in _their_ bedroom. He will never get tired of this. “Long day?”

“Fuck yeah,” Mickey answers passionately while fishing out his favorite sweatpants from the lowest drawer (where all the damn pants always are, why did he even bother going through all of them?). “That new cashier idiot managed to–”

Ian is ready to hear one of those stories that always end up with someone getting their ass kicked – either literally or metaphorically – but Mickey trails off as soon as he turns around and takes a good look at Ian’s face. His mouth stays open, brow furrowing in confusion.

Shit. Ian completely forgot what he looks like. He didn’t even think about it in his hurry to see Mickey. Fuck, thank God Lip hasn’t seen him; he’d never hear the end of it.

Mickey looks at him in such bewilderment that Ian can’t help but laugh as he rubs at the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.

“Franny wanted to play around with Debbie’s make-up stuff and I made a mistake telling her that I know how to put on eyeliner,” he explains quickly, thankful that he avoided the fate of being painted with glitter. He ducks his head, prepared to hear all the fairy jokes Mickey is going to bomb him with, only to be met with a complete silence.

He looks up.

Mickey is straight up staring at him. There’s a slight hitch to his breath as he licks his lips, tightening the grip on the sweatpants he’s holding. He looks like he’s been caught doing something he’s not supposed to. Ian knows that face. This is Mickey’s “aroused but not sure if he’s supposed to be aroused by that” face that Ian had the pleasure to observe the majority of their adolescence.

Ian knows that Mickey is thinking about the Fairy Tale. He remembers the way Mickey would look at him back then when he was dancing. How he would practically lick him all over with his gaze. Pure heat, covered by the mask of disinterest and annoyance. It was partly jealousy, partly the fact that Ian danced more than half naked. The make-up he wore, that fantasy he created, played a big role too. He knew how to work the crowd and Mickey wasn’t immune to that, even though he liked to act like he was.

And as much as the memories connected with the Fairy Tale still make Ian nauseous sometimes, he also recalls having a lot of fun with Mickey there. It was a bit of a safe space for them, the first place where Mickey opened up and let Ian get away with more and more things. Ian used to love those moments, pushing at Mickey’s boundaries until he gave up and let Ian kiss him and touch him, even tease him with lap dances. Ian would grind on him as if he was one of the clients, drive him crazy and leave after, reveling in Mickey’s hungry and frustrated looks. The sex they had after his shifts was especially mind-blowing.

So yes, he knows Mickey secretly liked this persona when it was just the two of them. Ian just didn’t expect it to have such a strong effect on him now. It's a bit of an ego stroke, if he is being honest.

“Mickey?” Ian asks, trying not to smirk. “That turning you on or something?”

Mickey shrugs kind of helplessly. He is biting his bottom lip, eyes darting all around Ian’s face and chest. He is full on blushing.

Ian can barely hold back a fond smile.

Mickey is never shy about what he wants in bed but like this, taken by surprise, he is adorably befuddled. And it doesn't take much to get Ian going in general but seeing Mickey all flustered just over the sight of him turns him the fuck on. Ian wants to corner him and do all the things he likes just to make him let go, stop him from being ashamed. Smother him with affection.

Do they have time? They do. They have all the time, for once.

He’s been craving to take care of Mickey – and now he has a chance.

He slides the accordion door behind him closed, slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal – a tactic he learned during the earliest phase of their relationship.

“Are you wearing lipstick?...” Mickey asks very quietly and licks at his own bottom lip, staring at Ian’s mouth as he moves closer. That finally makes Ian smile. Mickey’s become so much better at embracing his own wants, and still every so often he needs a little encouragement or in this case – Ian not making a big deal out of the things he actually wants to tease him about.

“Nope,” he answers, playing nonchalance. “Just lip stain.”

He pries the sweatpants from Mickey’s hand and throws them on the bed. It’s not a secret for the both of them that sometimes Mickey needs the decision to be taken away from him, so he pulls him flush against himself and successfully ends the agony of choosing. Mickey groans and nuzzles against him, burying his face into the crook of his neck while Ian touches him. Mickey is warm and pliant under his hands; Ian sighs when he feels a soft press of lips to the hollow of his throat. He really missed his husband today.

“What's that?” Mickey asks after nuzzling into him some more. He sounds dazed and whatever makes him sound like that, Ian is determined to do more of that. 

“What's what?” he murmurs into his ear. Over Mickey’s shoulder he catches the sight of the chair they use as an improvised clothes hanger. It’s empty now since he was so thorough with cleaning up today and he gets a fun idea.

“You smell… _fuck_ , Ian...” Mickey drawls as Ian puts his hands on Mickey’s hips and guides him backwards.

 _Oh right_ , Ian thinks while pushing Mickey onto the chair. The body spray. “Pink Seduction”, huh?

“That’s Debbie's stuff, Franny sprayed me all over,” Ian explains, watching Mickey curiously.

Mickey looks up, conflicted, his eyes widening a bit at Ian’s words. He is hard, his cock straining against the zipper of the dark jeans he wears to work; Ian can practically hear his thoughts, trying to talk himself out of doing what he wants for some obscure reasons. He kind of loves it, the way Mickey always fights it but ends up giving in as soon as Ian makes a move. He likes to think about how far they’ve come as a couple. He also likes to think that Mickey simply can’t resist him. Both thoughts are pretty fucking nice.

Straddling Mickey on that chair feels almost like second nature. It’s not the most pleasant feeling and Ian pushes it away, stores it under the “maybe bring up at therapy later” file in his head.

“You like?” he asks Mickey, bracing his hands on the back of the chair, and starts to slowly grind down in his lap. He’s not sure what exactly is he asking Mickey about – does he like the smell? Does he like seeing Ian like that again? Does he like where this is going?

He doesn’t expect Mickey to answer anyway. And Mickey doesn’t. Instead, he grips Ian’s hips and burrows his face in the crook of his neck. Ian feels his husband’s hot breath on his collarbone as he inhales the sweet smell and groans, and it’s enough of an answer for him.

He hums, pleased with the effect he has on Mickey, and gets to rolling his hips. It was always a routine with the club patrons: thrust his hips, slide a hand over their chest, arch his back. Mindless. Not with Mickey though. With Mickey he poured his soul into it, eager to catch every gasp, every reaction he could coax out of him. It was then when he discovered how easy it was to turn Mickey into a blushing mess if he really wanted to and he abused that new-found power, wanting to make up for all the time he was denied.

Turns out, it still works. Ian has barely started and Mickey is already panting, excited breaths escaping his mouth as he slides both hands under Ian’s t-shirt. Ian’s skin lights up under Mickey’s touch, as it always does, and he hurries to touch him back.

He glides his palms over Mickey’s broad shoulders, down his strong arms, over his heaving chest; Mickey made Sandy bring him his old weights from the Milkovich house and now spends a lot of his free time maintaining the prison muscles. Ian doesn’t complain. His husband is strong and solid, and that makes Ian’s blood rush through his body with excitement, pulsing in his hard cock. He moves in as if to kiss Mickey, only to pause at the last moment with a laughing breath against his eagerly parted lips.

“Asshole,” Mickey mutters into his mouth and Ian pulls back to give him a teasing smile. He really fucking likes what he sees. Mickey is looking back at him, a little bit lost, a little bit awestruck. His pupils are blown and his lips are red like he has been biting them. Beautiful.

The eye contact is electric as Ian keeps grinding down on him with a sly smile, shifting with intent until his ass presses against the bulge in Mickey’s pants. The gasps they both let out are perfectly synchronized. Mickey’s hands are warm under his t-shirt, wandering. Ian’s eyes are threatening to slide shut as Mickey’s fingertips slide over his nipples, pinching them slightly, and then dig into his hips.

There’s this familiar feeling Ian loves; when the hormones start doing their magic and his mind is fogging up with lust, thoughts fuzzy. Sex has been his favorite high ever since he got to fuck another person, probably the reason why he typically slips into hypersexuality first when the mania overcomes him…He knows he is not manic now though. He is sure. The arousal he is feeling is healthy, fueled by the thrill of sharing it with Mickey, _his husband_ , who is equally turned on below him. That’s their thing when they’re together like this – forgetting about everything else, their whole worlds narrowing down to each other’s bodies. It led to all of their most adventurous and reckless fucks when they were teenagers, still makes them completely lose control and act on their most basic instinct.

With a rush of heat flooding his head, Ian leans in to mouth at the line of Mickey’s throat. Mickey groans into his shoulder, fingers tightening on his swaying hips, and Ian feels powerful and fucking sexy. The addition of those shared Fairy Tale memories just stokes that fire in him. They don’t really role play in bed and Ian guesses that them recreating those club memories is as close as they ever going to get to it; somehow all of this gets Ian in a playful mood, so he kisses his way up Mickey’s neck and purrs the familiar phrase against his ear:

“How is your day going so far?”

There is a beat of silence and suddenly Mickey’s whole frame freezes. His wonderful hands stop sending sparks all over Ian’s body. It takes Ian several seconds to stop grinding on Mickey and pull back. He takes a notice of his husband’s tense face and feels the almost forgotten fear slithering through his veins. 

Fuck, was it too much? Did he misread the situation? Is Mickey going to bolt now?

Mickey doesn’t look like he wants to run though. That smoothes out Ian’s worry and he decides to give him time.

His husband bites on his bottom lip, clenches and unclenches his fists, and then finally opens his mouth:

“Are you-” his voice is hoarse and he swallows before continuing. “Are you okay doing it?”

“Ehm, yes?”

Ian was kind of getting into the tunnel vision mode with sex being the only thing on his mind, so he needs a little bit more than this to understand what has just happened.

“I mean,” Mickey continues anxiously. “With the…with the club and everything. Don’t you feel like?..”

Like a whore, Ian hears the unsaid.  
  
He would. He definitely would with anyone expect Mickey for very obvious reasons.

Granted, they are only obvious to Ian because of all the therapy hours that were devoted to the consequences of his sex-worker past. And since he has worked on it, he thought that those issues were in the past. But here sits his husband, stumbling over his words, searching for something in his eyes, and Ian is able to identify the expression on his face as concern instead of discomfort. Of course, Mickey is concerned that Ian might be feeling off.

His first instinct is annoyance. He sighs, rolls his eyes. He wants to push push _push_ through Mickey’s barriers as always, wants to brush it off. And yet, Mickey is _watching_ him and Ian remembers that they have never talked about that. Mickey probably hasn’t talked about it with anyone, ever. He never got a chance to deal with it. Ian gets it, always gets in when it comes to Mickey.

He looks around pointedly to help him gauge the situation. Mickey follows his gaze, taking in the pure domesticity of their own room. There is no one to watch them. No one to force Ian. No one to judge Mickey.

They are alone. Together.

Mickey looks back into to his eyes and Ian smiles at him.

“We're in our bedroom, Mick,” he says. “I'm wearing my sister's eyeliner and sitting on your lap in our bedroom.”

“Okay,” Mickey says after a pause. “You don’t feel like…” He sniffs, rubs a knuckle against his eyebrow. “Like…objectified or whatever?”

That’s new. Ian knows what that implies. God, he wants to kiss him.

“We're literally married,” he laughs through a fond smile and waves his ring finger with the wedding band in his face.

There are a lot of things connected with the club that are negative and triggering for him. Countless therapy sessions taught him how strongly his self-worth used to be connected to sexual attention from men.

It is not what he is feeling in this moment. What he is feeling now is confidence and freedom to express his sexuality simply by virtue of being wanted by Mickey. He just wants to unwind after the long week and get his share of an ego boost by blatantly seducing his own husband. He wants to let go and take Mickey with him; wants to take care of him by giving him what he wants. And sure, he will play a whore tonight. Not because he's an unmedicated bipolar teenager selling his body, but because he wants to have some fucking fun with a man he’s married to.

He looks at Mickey, his caring Mickey with such a strong moral compass, who is still sitting there conflicted, and decides to put him out of his misery: 

“I’m fine, Mick,” he assures him firmly. “I want to.”

“Okay,” Mickey whispers. “Okay, fuck.”

He lets his forehead rest on Ian’s shoulder and breathes against him. His body relaxes and Ian hums, guides his hands to rest on his hips, starts rocking in his lap again. Mickey is still hard and when Ian rubs against him, Mickey slides his hands on Ian’s ass and squeezes hard with a groan. Ian can’t help a sigh at how good it feels. He takes a firm grip of Mickey’s hair and pulls him into a filthy kiss, all tongue and teeth.

“What do you want, Mick?” he asks, an inch away from Mickey’s lips. “What do you want me to do?”

He hears a sharp intake of breath and pulls back again to enjoy Mickey’s aroused face. Mickey is watching him back, and he works his pelvis in slow circles and bites at his bottom lip, showing off a little bit. So fucking what, he is feeling himself. And it seems like Mickey is feeling him too, his eyes darkening as they dart all over his body.

Then Mickey focuses his gaze on Ian’s lips and groans into the air between the two of them.

“Get on your fucking knees,” he says breathily.

The words slither down Ian’s spine and go straight to his dick. He feels a wild grin taking over his mouth as he slides on the floor between Mickey’s thighs. He fucking loves it when they are on the same wavelength.

The fog of lust takes over his brain again and he rushes to unbuckle Mickey’s belt and unzip his work pants. He doesn’t waste any time and drags them down to his ankles, together with the boxers. Mickey’s dick is hard and wonderful as Ian nuzzles up against it. He lets the cockhead slip against his cheek, intentionally smearing it with precum, laps at the leaking slit a couple of times. For a second he regrets that he's not wearing actual lipstick, he would’ve loved to leave lip stains on Mickey. He has a feeling that Mickey would like it.

He just wants to put on a little bit of a show for his husband. It gets him so hot seeing Mickey losing his mind because of him. He has years of experience driving Mickey crazy. And he knows exactly what he's doing when he wraps his lips around his length, maintaining the eye contact.

Mickey lets out a deep moan and it is Ian’s cue to get to work.

He is relentless when he strokes Mickey’s cock in one hand and fondles his sack with another; vigorous when he wiggles the tip of his tongue against Mickey’s frenulum and then takes him into his mouth again and again. He uses his tongue, his hands, his lips. He does everything he can think of, looking up at Mickey and eating up his reactions.

Mickey gasps and groans at each slurped suck, so fucking responsive. His thighs are flexing around Ian’s head and Ian moans around his full mouth. These fucking legs are gonna be the death of him one day. Fingers digging into the soft skin of Mickey’s hips, he inhales deeply. Mickey smells so good and Ian aches to be inside him but he’s determined to fill Mickey’s request and make him fall apart with his mouth.

He is tearing up and there is drool leaking out the corners of his mouth, dripping off his jaw. He doesn’t bother to swipe it off. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes his cock deep in his throat, slowly, feeling every inch sliding against his palate.

“Fuck, Ian, look at me,” Mickey pants.

Ian opens his eyes and glances up, tears streaming down his cheeks. Mickey looks fucking wrecked. His bottom lip is red and shiny from sucking on it to keep silent and a strand of his gelled hair is falling onto his forehead, giving him that disheveled mid-sex look Ian loves.

There’s pride swelling deep in Ian’s chest when he sees the way his husband watches him. Ian knows that his eyeliner is smudged and his chin is shiny with all the spit. He feels filthy. Not in a bad way though, but rather in a hot, sexy way. Mickey’s dick is leaking in his mouth in confirmation.

When Mickey gets a handful of his hair, he tries to relax his throat before he is getting pulled up and down his husband’s dick. There is a rushing sound in his ears. It is hot, so hot, and Ian’s own cock throbs painfully between his legs at each lascivious groan that falls from Mickey’s lips. It’s pretty overwhelming and Ian has no control over his noises as he is getting facefucked, gagging all over that cock.

“Yes,” Mickey hisses, holding his head in place with a handful of hair. “Yeah, fuckin’…fuckin’ choke on it…”

Fucking hell. It took Mickey years to be able to let go like this, and Ian couldn’t be happier about the result. Thankfully, he is not a teenager anymore or he’d be coming in his pants right this second.

The demanding hand on the back of his head pushes him to sink lower and lower until his nose is buried in his husband’s dark pubic hair. Mickey’s smell fills his nostrils and Ian can barely think, his brain slowed down with arousal and lack of oxygen. Mickey’s hand trails down his neck, feeling his own cock lodged in Ian’s throat passage. Ian struggles to swallow around him, choking for a moment, and Mickey tugs his head up, letting him gasp for air.

Ian only lets himself pant for a short second before going back to deepthroating with a single-minded focus. The noises that Mickey makes get downright animalistic as he thrusts his hips, mixing with Ian’s lewd slurping.

When Ian glances up through his wet eyelashes Mickey is looking down at him. There is something wild on his face, the expression raw as he is grunting through his bared teeth. He is completely undone as he's fucking Ian's mouth, no pretenses, and Ian loves him like that. God, he wants to make him feel so fucking good.

“Gonna fuckin‘ come,” Mickey gasps. “Fuckin’ swallow.”

Ian hums enthusiastically and Mickey pulls on his hair a little harder, bucks hips once, two times, and then he is coming with a long pleased groan, filling Ian’s mouth with his hot release. Ian has to swallow two times, some of it still dribbling down his chin. Mickey’s dick slips out of his mouth as his husband falls back in the chair, panting.

Ian slumps against his naked thigh, fighting to get his breathing under control. His throat hurts and blood is still pumping in his ears when Mickey tugs him back into his lap. His hard cock rubs against Mickey’s stomach and he moans tiredly. Mickey kisses his cheek and pulls the sweatpants down over his straining dick. After spiting into his palm generously, he wraps his talented hand around him. Ian can only gasp as Mickey works his cock with a tight grip. He rolls his hips almost automatically, fucking into Mickey’s hand. He’s been hard for a good half hour and he closes his eyes, ready for his husband to finally make him come. Mickey slides his free hand into the back of his sweatpants and under the boxers, grabbing at his asscheek, helping him move.

Everything Mickey does feels amazing and Ian moans hoarsely, his throat protesting. Mickey is being just on the right side of rough with the handjob and the orgasm sneaks up on Ian, making his whole body shudder in Mickey’s lap. Mickey laughs when the come splatters on their clean clothes, and he has no energy to berate him. He feels too fucking good. 

Ian collapses against Mickey and lets his husband hold him while he pants in the crook of his neck. His lips tingle as they always do after a thorough blowjob, a familiar feeling. Apart from that, his scalp hurts where Mickey’s been tugging on his hair.

He feels a smile blossoming on his face. Damn aggressive asshole. All this over some fucking eyeliner.

“Jesus,” Ian laughs and pulls back to look at Mickey. “God, you’re a kinky fucker.”

Mickey smacks his naked thigh, and they laugh and grin at each other. Mickey’s cheeks are flushed, a noticeable contrast with his usual paleness, and he looks _light_.

Ian wonders how many times Mickey had to hold back with him, worried that Ian will be triggered by the old memories? That sweet caring idiot.

“Go wash your face, you look like a slut,” Mickey says with a wide grin. Even though he’s probably right, Ian still punches him in the shoulder (he has two reasons) and gets off his lap. Before he can deal with his trembling legs, Mickey grasps his wrist and tugs him in for a kiss. Their lips slide against each other softly, almost chastely compared to what they’ve been doing not five minutes ago.

Ian flips him off on the way to the bathroom, just for good measure, and he can’t stop smiling.

In the bathroom he steps in front of the mirror and huffs. Mickey was right. He looks exactly like he has just been facefucked.

He digs through the bottles in the cabinet in search for Debbie’s leftover make-up removal and some cotton pads. He still remembers the best way to get rid of the eyeliner induced panda-eyes that he had been sporting almost every morning after his shifts at the club. He waits patiently for the product to dissolve the dark mess on his eyelids and then wipes it away, hands moving with practice.

His throat is still sore and it seems like he’s bruised his knee. He splashes cold water in his face and looks at himself again. There is this smile again, the ‘I’ve just been kissed by my crush’ or the ‘I’ve just been on the most romantic date of my life’ smile. It’s weird. Whatever has just happened in their bedroom should’ve left him feeling used or, as Mickey was afraid of, objectified – but it hasn’t. What he feels is more akin to victory. He helped Mickey to get closure on an issue Ian didn’t even realize Mickey had. Something he’s been thinking about for years. Now they made new memories and are ready to move on.

Maybe he should wear eyeliner again if it has such an effect on Mickey. Maybe he’ll do it next time he manages to drag him to the club. Finally give Marcos and the guys a real reason to call him a queen.

Ian rubs the come stain on his sweatpants with some water, gives up, tugs his t-shirt a bit lower and goes downstairs.

Downstairs, he starts with checking on Franny. She is happily playing with Carl on the floor, forgotten Nemo on the tv screen. Tami is washing the dishes in the kitchen and Lip is sitting at the dining table with little Freddy in his lap, trying to simultaneously feed the baby and help Liam who’s doing his homework next to him.

“Can you heat up a plate for Mickey?” Ian asks Tami as she is about to put the pot roast in the fridge. “He’s coming downstairs. I’m gonna feed Freddy.”

“Fine,” Tami responds, obviously saving her typical “I’m not a maid” speech for another time. She has notably warmed up to Ian since he came back from prison, especially due to him being good with the baby. There’s also that unspoken thing between them where they’re trying to get Freddy off Lip’s hands as often as possible. Not that Lip is bad with Fred, it’s quite the opposite, but between working his ass off to support his young family and renovating the house the guy needed a breather once in a while.

“I think Liam needs your help,” Ian tells his brother and reaches to hold his wiggling nephew who has carrot purée all over his chubby face.

Lip looks up at him, chuckles, and lets him take his place on a chair, sitting next to Liam but not before pulling a bottle of non-alcoholic beer out of the fridge.

Ian relaxes, half-listening to his brothers’ math-related chatter, and concentrates on not smudging the rest of the purée on Freddy’s face and actually putting it in his mouth instead. The warm weight of a baby in his lap is comforting and the word “family” appears in his mind again. He thinks of Mickey. They are also a family now, for real. There is an official piece of paper with a proof upstairs.

He feels giddy with it. 

“You won a lottery?” Lip interrupts his train of thought.

“What?”

“Smiling pretty intensely there,” Lip shrugs and takes a gulp of his beer, eyes not leaving Ian’s face.

He could tell him. He could tell him about Mickey and him finally dealing with old issues together, and how _happy_ it makes him. He obviously wouldn’t tell Lip _how_ they deal with it, but he still could tell him.

He won’t though. He never told anyone about half the things that happen between Mickey and him and he is not starting now.

“Just in a good mood,” he offers.

“Mhm,” Lip drawls knowingly.

Something thumps in the living room and Franny squeals excitedly with Carl’s laugh in the background.

“I’m glad, ya know,” Lip says after a pause, his gaze penetrative.

Ian smiles into Freddy’s hair and gives his attention to the baby.

Mickey appears in the hallway to the kitchen with a full plate in his hands. He stands there for a moment, looking lost. He is quiet when he sits down opposite of Ian and starts eating slowly.

Liam tries to involve him in his and Lip’s algebra discussion and Mickey is nice enough to participate, even though Lip is being his snarky self. Ian can’t be bothered to keep up; he gave up on that part of life a long time ago. He is much more interested in Freddy babbling at him.

Still, there are waves of tension coming from Mickey as he barely pays attention to the food he is eating. He looks adorable with that scowl on his face, like a bird with its feathers ruffled up. Ian can practically hear him overthinking that thing that happened in the bedroom. It is okay. He always needs more time for processing his emotions, no wonder he feels baffled after letting go like he did tonight.

He was fucking amazing. It was amazing and it will be giving Ian boners a long time into the future. The only thing better than the actual sex was Mickey opening up about his wants to Ian.

Mickey’s expression is uncertain when he looks up from his plate. It takes them two seconds of looking into each other’s eyes to break into smiles. Ian has been feeling that raw emotional connection between them for over a decade now, but it seemingly still gets deeper with every private moment they share.

Lip can keep thinking whatever he thinks he knows. He will never understand.

But _they_ both know and that’s enough. They don’t need to tell anyone.

**Author's Note:**

> This one turned out to be much more domestic, probably cause it's Ian <3
> 
> No one deals with unresolved emotional issues better than these two 😂


End file.
